


Flying Falls

by risquetendencies



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Ficlet Collection, M/M, Various Characters/Pairings/Ratings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-10-17
Packaged: 2018-06-02 00:03:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 6,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6542227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/risquetendencies/pseuds/risquetendencies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Here's where I'll lump together my drabbles and short one-shots for Haikyuu. Expect various pairings and ratings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pretense | OiKage

Facing forward is the only way to keep moving forward. That’s what Tooru has believed up until now. That getting embroiled in the past would anchor a person there indefinitely until they succumbed to the weight of old regrets, never to be heard from again. If you made mistakes back then, there was no point in stressing over them, you just had to modify your behavior from the present into the future. Be a better person as time surged on.

Tobio isn’t the same boy he’d known in middle school. Even in that era, he’d changed, from the earnest underclassman who tested his generosity to a tyrant with a grim face and an inflexible playing style. 

He’s always been lauded for his ability to bring out the best in the players he worked with, adapting to them swiftly and enhancing their strengths. Looking at Tobio, he wonders what people would say about the impact he’s had on his protege. Maybe their rivalry had been motivating for him, but Tooru can’t shake the nagging feeling that all he’s ever managed to do is bring out the worst in the kid. 

And here they are now, sharing an university team.

Suffice to say, his feelings upon seeing Tobio among their new first-year acquisitions are mixed.

' _Just when we've become a well-oiled machine_ ,' he thinks immediately, face twisted with a years-old apprehension. How long will it take him to overtake him this time, rendering all the effort Tooru has put into integrating with and strengthening the team useless? Will they chafe at each other until once again, lashing out feels like a perfectly acceptable reaction?

Will he sour his junior any further, maybe undo some of the progress he's made in the past three years? For whatever reason, he's always seemed to feed off of whatever energy Tooru faces him with, even during the worst times. Parasitic, that's a good word for it. Appropriately awful sounding as well as accurate.

“Oikawa-san.”

Steadying his breaths and stiffening the angle of his shoulders, Tooru turns around at the familiar, disarmingly intense address.

He’s bowing. Why is he bowing? The mystery causes him to quirk an eyebrow, sufficiently caught off guard despite knowing how formal he can be. It’s more the intent he doesn’t understand here.

Tobio doesn’t raise his head, bangs hanging down to shutter the view he has of his face. Still, the silence between them is heavy enough to stoke his curiosity further. When it lasts longer than is societally typical, he lets one hand drift to his hip, all but ready to chastise him before strutting off to reconnect with his regular spikers.

But then he's bested - for the first time - at having the honor of the last word.

"Oikawa-san, for these two years. P-Please take care of me."

Clumsily said, if he's nitpicking, but the mundane phrases hit a place inside him he's not sure he knew existed, or has conveniently forgotten. Tooru shifts his weight to the opposite foot, giving himself something else to focus on than the regret fueling him. It sounds like a second chance. Whether or not he deserves that, he's not inclined to care right now. Because a do-over is surprisingly appealing, once the shock fades.

He can only hope that the boy Tobio is now is a little wiser, a little more patient with him.

Tooru's always been too stubborn for evolution, and it's always the same problems that poke at him in the end, his pride being the biggest of them. But in the same vein, it's his pride that prompts him to want to try and work things out, to really earn that reputation of being able to work with  _anyone_. Loose ends are better off tied, anyway.

His lips curl mildly at the corners.

"I can give it a try."


	2. Dirty & Down | KuroKen | (NSFW)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt from Tumblr:** _"Kenma trying to explore his sexuality and thinking he might be gay. He tells Hinata (who says he's straight) gets this big idea to drag him to a gay strip club. Kenma feeling more awkward than enjoying himself doesn't seem interested in any of the strippers there. Until someone known as The Black Cat enters the stage. Kenma can't stop staring at them and without knowing, Hinata paid for a private lapdance for Kenma. Kenma is a mess and Black Cat won't stop calling him kitten."_

Tipping forward, the dancer locked their gazes.

And normally he hated that kind of proximity, strangers staring at him, but something in the way Black Cat looked at him didn’t feel invasive. Just mind-numbingly intense, the amber glow of his eyes pinning him deeper into where he sat and silencing all his mind’s objections. They stayed connected as he inched closer, a soft sway in his hips. Then, he was sinking down to straddle his lap.

Kenma gasped at the sudden weight, darting his eyes away. It was solid, how Black Cat felt pressed against him, the heat of his body suffusing through to warm him.

“Too close, kitten?” the dancer rasped near his ear, more a tease than a question.

Gaze still stubbornly tilted away from him, Kenma shook his head. It earned him a gust of hot air over the side of his neck, a gentle grind of their lower halves. The contact enough was enough to elicit a whine from his throat.

Black Cat ****chuckled. “I’m glad you’re enjoying this. Let me hear more of those cute noises.”

He ground down again more deliberately, drawing slow, rough friction against Kenma’s arousal, circling his hips continuously until he lost track of how many times it had been. Kenma’s pulse accelerated to a breaking point, heart hammering in his chest as he tried not to let it overwhelm him. A futile effort, it turned out, when he felt a hand lifted from where it’d been balled into a fist at his side.

Moments later, he felt stiff flesh beneath his fingers, and the thinnest layer of silk. So thin it hardly mattered, and stretched so tight over the bulge in the fabric that it hugged every curve.

Wordlessly, he jerked his chin up to look at him. Black Cat smiled as only a feline could.

“Might as well get your money’s worth,” he remarked coyly. “Go ahead kitten, I don’t mind if you squeeze a little. Or a lot, if you’re so inclined.”

Rather than short-circuiting his brain, the taunt did something strange to him.

“Do you always do this?” he muttered, realizing one second too late that he’d vocalized the thought.

“Only for cute guys like you. So, just you, really.” Another laugh, another intent stare meeting his.

Kenma looked away, glanced down though a part of him was hesitant to. Seeing and feeling was doubly worse, he found out. His fingers curled around the outline of the dancer’s cock dangerously close to where a damp spot bloomed onto the fabric. It throbbed as he dragged his hand down, gauging the way the shaft seemed to thicken towards the base. 

He licked his lips nervously. His mouth was dry, painfully dry, and he didn’t want the deluge of thoughts that were starting to creep in on him, but a part of him did.

Imagining touching that cock uninhibited, sliding the pearling head past his lips and feeling it pulse against his throat turned him on more than he wanted to acknowledge. Worse was the rush of heat that flared in his stomach at picturing it slamming in somewhere else, bigger and harder than his fingers could ever manage to be. Filling him, wrecking him sure as the thrust of him against Kenma’s straining length was.

Giving up the ghost, he released a shaky moan, head clouding over in a wash of fevered bliss. Above him Black Cat leaned into his grip, panting softly. In the background, the music altered, the smoky beat of before morphing into something louder, with too much percussion and a dizzying tempo.

That time around, his gaze was less confident, almost vulnerable.

“Know what you like now, kitten?”

Unfortunately, the answer was a yes, Kenma thought once he was able to sustain a coherent thought. He wanted something he wasn’t sure was his to have outside of this place, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to regret tasting it for whatever fleeting minutes they had together.

He probably wouldn’t kill Shouyou after all. Probably.


	3. 3 Sentence Fics | KuroKen, BoKuroo, BokuAka

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Assorted three sentences fics I was prompted for on Tumblr.

**KuroKen - College AU**

Kuroo knows it’s finals week not by the mark on the calendar but by the sound of Kenma’s socked feet quietly padding across their kitchen floor at unthinkable hours, getting up to brew his own tea without waking him from where he’d collapsed on their bed after his shift at work. 

It’s a reassuring chorus, one that can easily lull him to sleep if he allows it, but he pries himself free, standing up and cracking his back to loosen it before he sets to work, turning on the desk lamps that Kenma neglected to, eyeing the progress of the document on his laptop, and setting an alarm on the clock beside it for one more hour.

An hour and a minute of fatigued snooze-button swatting later, the gap in his arms is filled with a Kenma-shaped warmth and maybe a misplaced kiss to the jaw that lands somewhere near his ear, or maybe it was a whispered goodnight; he’s really too content then to tell.

 

* * *

 

  **KuroKen - Bodyguard AU**

“You don’t have to do that, you know, as long as they don’t see us,” Kenma manages to say, pushing past the unsteady thrum of his pulse as Kuroo’s frame shields his against the brick wall of the alley they’re hiding in, the voices of their, no, _his_  pursuers barking past them from the main road.

They’re close, now that the cover the two of them had been availing has been blown, and even despite that, Kenma is mostly calm - apart from the dizzying heat that settles in his face and chest when his eyes dart up between them and meet his bodyguard’s alert, determined gaze.

“Consider it a favorable alternative,” Kuroo returns, looming over him as he adjusts the placement of his palms against the wall so that it’s solid; not for a moment is Kenma worried though - he has full faith that even if they’re found there’s no person alive that could get past Kuroo’s defenses, and it’s that thought that allows him to breathe and sink into the shadows, waiting unanxiously for once.

 

* * *

 

  **BoKuroo - High Fantasy AU**

“What do you mean you’re a demon?” Bokuto’s eyes are wide and guileless as they stare back at him, too trusting - his legendary knight-to-be has always been too trusting. 

He believes he can really be the best, vanquish any monster or opponent that crosses paths with him, can save anyone who needs saving and take their burdens upon himself; he even believed that all of the strength and moves he’s amassed are thanks to his own effort - no magical or rather, supernatural, interventions required.

As revitalizing as Bokuto’s smile is when he’s unconcerned and happy, Kuroo’s tired of keeping what he is from him - he just never figured that being honest with Bokuto would hurt him more than having to feast upon his soul when their contract, the contract Bokuto never realized he even made, finishes.

 

* * *

 

  **BokuAka - Magic AU**

Akaashi laces his fingers with Bokuto’s thicker, calloused ones as he takes in the spectacle playing out before them, the sunset- colored glow behind the trees, golds and purples and burning orange peeking in through the branches, and how it makes the whole glade feel warm despite the world outside it being dreary and cold. 

It’s works like this that provide him with the ammunition for those times when fools mock what Bokuto is capable of, or in their eyes, what he isn’t capable of, when he messes up an incantation or worse, can’t remember it - all he has to do is close his eyes and remember, and he has all he needs to counter their criticism. 

Leaning against Bokuto’s shoulder, he offers only a small smile when the other boy looks his way, demanding to know if Akaashi is happy and if he likes it because Bokuto really wants everything to be perfect, it’s a special day, and a thousand other questions that spill into his ears and out the other side because there’s no room in his brain when all he can think is: _I will never doubt you_.


	4. Eyes On The Prize | KuroKen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt on Tumblr: “You did all of this for me?"**

Hefting one more glance toward the clock on the wall, Kenma exhales, trying to let the breath course through his chest gradually, soothing his nerves as he goes. 

Waiting isn’t something he’s ever been good at. He requires a distraction, something to look at or do in the interim. Sitting in quiet silence with nothing in front of him is an unpleasant thought, one he wishes he didn’t have to live through right now. But all the preparations have been made and now he’s just waiting for Kuroo to show up.

It’s only a minute or two past when he normally comes home, so realistically, he shouldn’t notice the difference. But with nothing to focus his mind on, he glares a hole into their bedroom door, miffed by the hold-up. 

An indeterminable, but short, amount of time later, there’s the usual clamor from the entrance of their apartment. Keys being disposed of on the table, shoes being kicked off, coats and workbags being hung up. Kuroo is orderly in his own way, he puts things where they’re meant to go rather than tossing them off as soon as he gets inside. 

That’s more effort than Kenma can usually stomach, but then again, effort. He can’t really say anything about that topic right now, considering he’d put so much of it into the surprise he has ready to go. He just hopes that his lover’s reaction makes it worth the time spent.

Ambushing him as soon as he gets in the bedroom is probably at least a little suspicious, but by the time he’s there, Kenma can’t stand the suspense any longer. Giving Kuroo ****time to settle in means more time waiting and wondering, and he’s long since hit his limit of both of those.

“Welcome home to you too, Kenma,”Kuroo teases as he’s dragged across the close quarters to sit on the edge of their bed. 

Once he’s in position, he smiles winsomely, like he thinks he knows where their night is headed. And while his idea isn’t a bad one, he’s wrong.

“Play this, I made it,” Kenma tells him tersely, stuffing a console into his hands rather than address the suggestive expression lingering on his boyfriend’s face. Maybe it can be revisited later, if things go well.

It fades away into curiosity as Kuroo grazes his fingers over the buttons, studying the opening sequence of the game. 

“Want critique or something?”

“No… just play it. You’ll see when you get to the end.”

ThenKuroo pats the space on the bed in front of him invitingly, and just as soon, Kenma shakes his head. Normally if Kuroo’s going to play, and him watch, he’ll sit in between his legs, Kuroo ’s arms wrapped around him as he holds the game out in front of them both so they can see. But not this time. 

“All right,” Kuroo says, a brow quirked at the refusal. “So, how long is this one, roughly?”

“Short,” Kenma answers, keeping his volume low and even. He doesn’t speak the thought that crosses his mind, about how it can hardly qualify as a game at all, when it has only one objective and a decided lack of obstacles to overcome. But it’ll do the job, hopefully, although he worries about that a little.

No, he worries about all of this. He put a lot of time into making the game, but not a lot of thought into whether it was a good idea. It had been more of an impulse originally, prompted by, ironically, his own impatience. 

Their tenth anniversary looms, and Kuroo had cited no special plans for it, so he’d come up with this. It’s a big milestone. Ten years of dating. More years than that of being together as friends. It’s at the point where he’s spent more of his life at Kuroo’s side than without him. When he’d thought of that, it made him want to do this. 

But now the embers of his courage are barely simmering, and as he watches Kuroo work his way through the game, dread starts to creep in to replace it.

When he nears the ending, that’s when the panic mounts.

“…Huh, it’s not showing me what the scroll thing says. Can you come look at it?”

Kenma’s heart seizes up for a second, and then returns to beating, faster and heavier than it had been. ‘ _Of course. Of course something had to go wrong_ ,’ he thinks numbly, remembering the trouble he had with some of the scripts for the final event in the game. ‘ _And it had to be_ that _to go wrong_.’

Chewing on the inside of his lip a little, he moves toward the bed, crawling over the comforter to where Kuroo’s seated. He takes the console from him, turning it around in his hands so that he can read it.

Several things happen at once.

All the blood races to his cheeks, the game nearly clatters out of his grip, and there’s a steadying hand on his shoulder. Without it, he might have bolted out of pure instinct, but he stays, neck audibly creaking as he glances to the side to analyze Kuroo’s expression.

“I love this,” Kuroo reassures him quickly, pointing at the screen, “In fact I can’t believe you did this all of this for me, but can I hear it from you too?”

Kenma turns towards the game again, a few strands of his hair falling forward to shield him from the eyes he knows are on him now. Kuroo’s hand lowers, tracing a gentle pattern near the base of his spine, silently encouraging. 

He reads the words emblazoned on the animated scroll over and over. There’s only two of them written there, so it’s hard to draw out a pause as long as he wants, but he knows that there’s no pressure. Kuroo will wait, he just knows what he has to do, and if he could only get his mouth and brain to synch, he’ll do it.

Deep breath in, he thinks. He’s come this far, so there’s no sense in giving up. 

Matching their gazes, he manages to eke the words out without stuttering.

“Marry me?”

Kuroo’s eyes crinkle at the corners - he’s happy, Kenma notes with a relieved leap of his pulse - he smiles painfully wide before he leans down to answer.

“Yes.”

And then he’s no longer worrying about his breathing because Kuroo’s lips give him no reason to want to and no way to even if he did.


	5. Promise | BoKuroo

Kuroo wakes to a hand combing soft waves through his hair. He’s laying on something solid and searingly warm. His first groggy thought is that he’s fallen asleep on the train or some other moving thing because despite him keeping still, his body’s jostled every few seconds, up, then down by whatever he’s resting against.

It turns out to be Bokuto’s chest, and the realization spurs a flood of memories to flash through his head, making it ache with the sheer volume of them.

Bokuto telling him he wants to become a hero, use his powers for something good rather than hide them. That he isn’t afraid of the potential dangers. He’s strong enough to get by. There were a lot of overconfident statements spoken last night, none of which had convinced him to quit worrying.

How could he? Do you ever _not_ worry about the guy you love? Still, the idea of Bokuto regularly risking himself had lit a fire under him. After years of hiding his feelings, he’d confessed.

He remembers it all too well, and wants to cringe. They’d moved fast after that. He can’t regret it, but they should’ve kept talking. He should’ve tried harder to get Bokuto to give up on the superhero enterprise.

Now, with sun streaming through the blinds, and Bokuto’s heartbeat thudding away beneath his ear, he gets the feeling it’s too late.

Moving at a snail’s pace, he slides off his perch and sits up, meeting Bokuto’s wide awake, golden stare. He’s smiling at him dotingly, not a care in the world. Nope, it seems like all the worrying wil have to be his responsibility from now on, as it always has been.

Kuroo leans close, slotting their mouths together slow but firm. Bokuto returns the gesture tentatively, allowing him to lead, but he’s a solid pressure against Kuroo’s lips, fingers skimming his bare chest, moaning inaudibly when Kuroo’s hand wanders beneath the blanket to grip the bulk of his thigh. 

It’s a lot warmer in the room when they separate, but he makes sure he has Bokuto’s full attention when he speaks next.

“If you die out there,” he says, voice gritty with repressed emotion, emotions he will hold onto in the years ahead to fuel him, “I’ll dig you up and kill you again myself.”

Predictably, Bokuto laughs him off and steals another kiss, but they both know it’s a promise.


	6. No Apologies | KuroKen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt on Tumblr: “You lied to me."**

Kenma doesn’t pride himself on being the observant type, but he notices a lot through the way he lives life one step apart from people. When it comes to Kuroo though, his knowledge is forged via years of shared experiences, trial and error, learning his quirks and the way he tends to display (or mask) certain emotions. It’s heaps of data translated into probabilities - if Kuroo is angry and he walks away, leave him alone for a while; if he’s in the yelling mood, lower the volume and that will get him to calm down too. So on, so forth.

Generally, Kuroo isn’t ever dishonest. Though, sometimes, he’ll stretch the limit, lying by omission about his problems in the hope that he can solve them first rather than have to tell anyone else. Asking for help is always a last resort.

Kenma hates it. He knows it’s just because Kuroo doesn’t want to worry people, but most of the time it makes him feel like he doesn’t trust him, won’t rely on him.

There’s a shift in the mattress as he feels Kuroo ease himself onto it, slipping beneath the countless blankets to lay next to him. Irritation nettles his insides, but he waits until everything is still and quiet before he reveals that he’s not sleeping.

Rolling over, he studies Kuroo’s expression, mildly surprised, not yet alarmed. He wonders idly to himself how Kuroo can keep such a straight face with what’s going on in his life. The part of his life he doesn’t feel like sharing details of with him, even if they are important, no, _vital_ details.

“Sorry. Did I wake you up, kitten?”

Kenma’s eyes narrow, and the nonchalant greeting decides him.

“I’ve been awake this whole time,” he answers, swallowing hard before taking a stab at the issue he’s been stewing over all night. 

“You lied to me.” Immediately, Kuroo balks at the accusation, even without knowing the topic, but he doesn’t give him a chance to jump in. “Why didn’t you tell me about your internship? You’re failing. Why haven’t you said anything?”

His words weigh heavy in the air, tainting the silence between them. Kuroo’s jaw tightens, and he doesn’t seem to have a response, no matter how his face contorts in thinking about it, no matter how expectantly Kenma stares him down, waiting for a justification.

Eventually, the thinking boils down into a tremble of his lips, and the shine of tears forming at the corners of his eyes as he slowly, slowly, lowers his guard at last.

“Thought I could get back on track,” he says, voice a little scratchy, “if i just worked hard enough, then I could scrape by with the grades for this semester. Then it would be the next one and it’d be a fresh start. I really thought I could do it, Kenma.”

“But there had to be a point when you knew you couldn’t.”

“I didn’t want to think about it. All of the classroom stuff came easy; and then I get out there, doing real work, and I’m shit at it. I guess I can just memorize things all right if I put my mind to it, but not do the actual-”

“You don’t just memorize things,” Kenma interjects, tone a firm reprimand, “you _know_  them. I know that you’re good at this.”

“No I’m _not_ , that’s what this is telling me!”

Kenma’s expression pinches at the roughness of his comeback, but then he takes stock. Remembers what _he_  knows, and puts it into practice.

Staying calm, that’s the best approach here.

“You didn’t choose this job because you thought you could do the bookwork and ace the classes. It wasn’t a fluke. You wanted to do this. You like it, and yes, you are good at it.”

By the way Kuroo’s eyes squeeze out more tears, he can tell he’s not convinced.

Shuffling closer, he makes a second decision: anger later, comfort now. He reaches a hand out between them tenatively at first, but then cups Kuroo’s cheek with it. His lover looks back at him moodily, but doesn’t refuse the gesture.

In a moment, Kenma gets even closer, until they’re laying flush, and he can press his lips briefly against Kuroo’s forehead - a gentle reminder to settle down, that he can feel safe there with him. Even if their discussion isn’t an easy one.

“I’m sorr-”

“Don’t apologize. Not until you tell me about what you want to apologize for.”

Their night may run long, but when the sun rises, he hopes they can meet it with dry eyes and a little more honesty between them.


	7. Arrow From Above | BokuAka

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt on Tumblr: “I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified."**

Of all the times to realize that he’s in love, Akaashi laments, his brain has chosen to have such a frivolous epiphany in the midst of battle. When his mind needs to be focused on the royal army riding below them on the forest path, unaware of their warriors crouched in wait in the trees overhead. He needs to be focused; he’s the one who signals their timing after all, when to aim their bows, when Bokuto should-

He swallows painfully, pushing away the worry that makes itself known when he thinks of that name. 

That’s exactly why he shouldn’t be having these thoughts. They need to fight, it’s what Fukurodani does, and they do it not for a livelihood, but in the place of those who cannot. Those who are oppressed by the steep taxes and cutthroat policies of their king, who go hungry through the day and huddle up in groups to fight the cold when winter descends. They alone have the skill and the meaningless lives to throw away in defense of average citizens.

None of them had been wanted to begin with. Children, no, infants in all cases, abandoned to the depths of the forest with the thought that animals would do the killing that their parents could not. 

Instead, they’ve grown and lived, but have no place in the world. The most they have is each other. Their makeshift family, that’s all it should have been.

But now as he stares down at the ground, Akaashi wants to sigh, because his heart foolishly decided it needed more than that.

It’s going to get him in trouble. He can tell that already, by how tense his shoulders feel without the strain of aiming his bow to blame it on and the feverish tempo of his pulse. He wants to forgo their usual way of fighting, keeping Bokuto aloft in the tree beside him - not in the middle of the fray.

Bokuto has no such compunctions. He’s raring to move, shifting restlessly where he’s crouched to Akaashi’s left, shortsword in hand.

“Be careful,” Akaashi whispers, feeling like he’ll probably implode if he doesn’t say at least that much. “There are a lot of them.”

Barely audible words, but their captain turns to look at him with a smile that’s far too cheerful for the work he’s about to do.

“Can’t promise careful, but I’ll get ‘em,” Bokuto says confidently. “And if not, you’ll get them for me, won’t you?”

“Or one of the others,” Akaashi agrees.

“Yeah, but I know you’ll take care of me, more than the other guys will.”

The words strike him oddly, surprise him with their trust, and Akaashi pauses to take them under consideration. He eventually ducks his head to break eye contact as the tension in his chest blurs into warmth. Still tinged with apprehension, but not near as much as in the beginning. 

His face burns a little as he reaches for his whistle to give the signal.

All around the glade, arrows rain down from the branches above, finding their mark with precision, some aimed to warn, others less benevolently. When they finish one round of firing, Bokuto crouches lower, waiting.

“Go.”

He leaps down with concentration marking his features, and as soon as he’s on the ground, Akaashi lets the whistle around his neck fall back into place.

Shifting his position, he tugs back his bowstring, focused on the soldiers that Bokuto isn’t focusing on. He won’t let them get within more than a few feet, even if Bokuto is absurdly strong when he’s at the top of his game. The less he leaves to chance, the better.

He might be afraid for their future, afraid if they’ll have one the way that he hopes, but he’ll do whatever it takes to get them both there safe to find out. 


	8. Under the Cherry Tree | KuroKen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt on Tumblr: KuroKen + magic AU**

“Do you ever look up from that thing?”

Kenma pauses in his tracks under the same cherry blossom tree he passes underneath every day on his way back and forth to school. It’s become a daily ritual whether he likes it or not, almost like an intangible toll he has to pay to take the shortest, least populated route home.

Lowering his console, he debates continuing home without rising to the provocation. It’s not like he’ll be followed; it had never happened any of the other times he’d ignored whatever was said to him. Then again, maybe if he answers now, that will satisfy his nosy onlooker for a few days.

It’s worth trying.

“Unfortunately,” Kenma responds with a bite, diverting a sideways glance at the spirit lounging on the tree limb above him. 

The spirit recoils at his tone, one taloned hand sliding up an angular face to rest on its forehead in mock offense.

“That’s not very polite,” it chides before stretching out on the branch, shaggy black tail swishing side to side before disappearing altogether. Next to go is the bulk of its face, leaving only eyes and a mouth floating free above the rest of the body. But none of this is new to Kenma either.

“Most people actually look, you know, when someone’s head or arms suddenly go ‘ _poof_.’ It can be terrifying for some,” the spirit begins to drawl on, and Kenma tunes out for a moment from sheer lack of interest. Nothing about it’s scary, or even innovative. He’s seen countless creatures more intimidating than this one around the grounds at school.

He shoots another skeptical gaze at the spirit’s goofy hair that’s starting to materialize again, tufted and sticking up in several directions apart from where it covers one of its eyes. And that’s just one reason why he disagrees.

Kenma supposes someone could think it has a menacing expression, maybe, in the right light, but he’s too used to it to think that. After a few months of seeing the thing twice a day, any impressiveness had worn off. Grudgingly, he’d even had to come up with a name for it in his own mind because calling “it” grew tiresome. He’d settled on Kuro.

“You know, I admire your complete lack of originality. It’s certainly better than being called Fluffball for the nth time.”

The words draw him out of his head. He stares back at Kuro, momentarily dumbfounded.

“Yes, I can read your mind. Slightly more impressed now?” the spirit clamors, grinning broadly. “Maybe impressed enough… to give me _your_  name?”

“Shouldn’t you already know it then?” Kenma murmurs under his breath, pointedly ignoring the preening going on above him. 

It’s too loud, but if he had to say, he doesn’t always hate it when Kuro acts like this. It’s not as annoying as other people when they’re exuberant. Different, considering Kuro is normally more controlled than the chatty teenage girl he acts like when he’s pleased with himself, but not bothersome.

“No-pe,” Kuro answers, punctuating the word with a sharp pop of his tongue. “Your brain is surprisingly stubborn. Any time I get close, it’s like, hmm, static replaces where your name should be? You’re far from an open book.”

“So you can’t really read my mind.”

“Well not perfectly, but I can still. If I want to.”

“You mostly can’t.”

“Can too.”

Kenma scrunches up his face. “I’m going home,” he announces, turning away from the tree.

“Wait! Just hold up a second!”

Halting his escape, Kenma turns back, only to stare right into Kuro’s eyes. He’s managed to scramble off his perch and onto two feet in the moment or two Kenma wasn’t looking, and now he towers over him, closer than they’ve ever been.

Kenma shrinks back instinctively. It’s fine if they have their distance between them, but being inches apart is pushing the limits of his tolerance. He doesn’t know this thing that well, even if Kuro has never done anything other than be a minor annoyance some days.

“Are you feeling okay?”

“…What?” Kenma deadpans.

Kuro squints at him like he’s trying to figure something out. This goes on for a fair few seconds, long enough that Kenma starts to wonder if he should just start walking again. He’s not sure what the goal of this interrogation is, or if he cares at all.

“Your aura feels different. Weaker. Sure you’re not tired, sick maybe?”

Tired. Kenma wants to laugh at that. There’s nothing weird about him being tired, considering he never goes to bed at any semblance of a reasonable hour. But he doesn’t want to divulge that to a random, prying spirit.

So he shrugs.

“No.” Kuro’s fingers come to rest on his chin in a speculative way. “There’s definitely something wrong here. I’ve noticed it before too. You go to school fine and on the way back, your aura is dimmed considerably.”

Kenma wants to say that he’s sure that’s the case for most high school students, but the words don’t leave his lips. 

“You should make me your partner.”

“What.” The words “ _the fuck_ ” echo silently afterwards in his head, but when he chances a look at Kuro, he doesn’t see any indication that he’s teasing.

“I can go to school with you and protect you from whatever’s leeching off your aura. Simple!”

Suspicious, Kenma thinks. School is draining in of itself; there isn’t anything that’s physically doing it. Well, maybe one of the creatures the school keeps around for their lessons, but he doesn’t spend much time outside. It’s not likely that one of them would be able to steal his energy on such limited occasions.

Harmless though he appears to be, he knows Kuro is some sort of demon. He’s probably a low level one, but a demon nonetheless. There’s more than a few reasons he could think of for Kuro wanting to get onto school grounds. That’s probably the true motive behind this farce.

“If you’re worried, go to the school yourself and check,” Kenma challenges. As he does, he watches carefully for any tells in the spirit’s expression.

“Can’t. I’d get kicked out on my own, but you know that, judging by what you’re thinking about. But if I was someone’s say, familiar, then I could slip under the radar. I promise I’m not up to anything, so, why don’t we begin the arrangements?”

Then, a spark of inspiration illuminates Kuro’s golden brown eyes.

“How about a limited contract? I find out what’s stealing your power, stop it, and then we part ways?”

Kenma considers that, but the problem remains that Kuro’s own personal motivations are still unclear.

“Welllllll, if you make the deal with me then you’ll have to tell me your name, won’t you?”

Heat flutters to life inside Kenma, reddening the tips of his ears, but he grimaces to try to mask any traces of it on his face. 

It’s an answer to his question, but it only gives rise to countless new questions. Like if he should find it creepy that a spirit got interested in him from watching him walking to school and back and not doing much else. Or if he’s weird for not being completely opposed to what precious little contact they have becoming more frequent.

He really doesn’t want to admit it, but he’s curious. Just curious for now, with the potential of it intensifying further.

This whole offer is probably a mistake, a thinly-veiled lie, but he’ll take the risk.

“Call me Kenma.”


	9. Too Close | BokuAka

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt on Tumblr: BokuAka + superhero AU**

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised to see you again, Bokuto-san,” Keiji quips dryly as he tears through the ropes binding his rescuee’s hands. It’s wrong, but he catches himself lingering on the sight of the pink lines left behind on Bokuto’s skin once the ropes drop to the ground. “After all it’s been a whole week since the last time you found trouble, and that’s longer than the average.”

He quickly scraps the edge of fondness to his expression as Bokuto circles around to face him. That too, could very easily lead to a mistake if he lets himself dwell on the feeling. 

He’d decided when he’d began his hero career that it was dangerous to get close to someone else. The last person he needs to break that resolution with is the same civilian he finds himself having to rescue several times a month. Bokuto so far seems to have an unlucky knack for getting picked as a hostage by the supervillains in their area. Keiji almost feels sorry for him, though the man in question hardly acts fazed by his string of misfortune.

“What can I say, I’m a popular guy!”

Not fazed in the slightest, Keiji corrects himself internally. It’s bizarre enough behavior that he wants to question it. But he stops himself short. That would be too personal. Too unnecessary.

Instead, he prepares himself to leave. 

The police should be making an appearance any moment, and there’s no danger if he leaves Bokuto to his own devices now. more than anyone else he’s helped, Bokuto knows the drill by now on giving a statement to the authorities, little help that it is. Villains are a dime a dozen these days, and Keiji has put an end to each one that’s cropped up. That won’t change, even if it is a never-ending task.

“All right, it’s still here… hey, hey, Hero-kun!”

Against his better judgement, Keiji looks back to see Bokuto waving something in his hand at him, something small. Beneath his mask, his eyebrows furrow, trying to figure out what it is. He’s not not left in suspense for long, though.

Bokuto bounds over until he’s in front of him again, shoving the item toward the hand Keiji extends cautiously. 

A keychain drops into his gloved palm, a plastic one on a short strap. It’s an owl with jet black feathers and if he has to say, a rather bored-looking expression. What it’s supposed to mean, he has no idea. If he wracks his brain, he’s not sure there are even owls with black feathers, but perhaps there are some if the keychain exists. Regardless, it’s an odd find and he’s not entirely sure why it’s being gifted to him.

“I thought it’d be nice to get you something, you know, since you’ve saved me so many times!” Bokuto chirps as if on cue, prompting Keiji to elevate his gaze and watch him speak. “And then I saw this little guy when I was out shopping with Kuroo. That’s my best bro, we live together-”

“I don’t need to know that, Bokuto-san.”

“And well I thought you might like him, and well, so I bought him” he rambles on over Keiji, who sinks back with a muted sigh of resignation. “I wanted to get something because I figured you’d probably say no if I asked you out to dinner to thank you instead. Because of the uh, hero thing and secrecy and all. So, do you like it?!”

It’s a loaded set of sentences if ever he’s heard one, so he takes a moment to respond, glancing from the keychain to back at Bokuto to the ground.

“It’s… unique,” he settles on saying. “Thank you for thinking of me. You didn’t have to get anything.”

“I wanted to!”

“Yes,” his voice wavers then at the passionate insistence in Bokuto’s tone, a catch in his throat interrupting suddenly. Endless repressed words bubble on the tip of his tongue, and for a moment he considers setting them free. 

But he knows he can’t.

This is as close as they should be.

Tightening his grasp on the keychain, Keiji tries to pull the threads of what he wants to say back together, ignores the impulsive parts of himself that rarely surface and how they clamor for a different outcome. 

“I hope we don’t meet like this again, Bokuto-san,” he says. “I’ll be going on ahead now.”

He tries not to see the disappointment on the other man’s face, but it cuts him just the same as he speeds off into the night.


End file.
